Road Trip
by Laura W
Summary: Kathryn and Chakotay get to know each other again. A sequel to "Joyride." J/C.
1. Chapter 1

NOTE: So people asked, and I thought maybe there was merit to the request. You really need to have read "Joyride" before this. I promise it won't stay this angsty for long. This is just where Chakotay wanted to begin his story, so after some hedging I finally gave in and let him tell it his way.

**Road Trip**

**Part 1**

The late-evening mist gathers on your shoulders like a lead weight.

Six weeks removed from _Voyager_, it shouldn't feel like this. Six weeks removed from _Voyager_, you should be accustomed to the feel of Earth's gravity holding you close to her blue and green surface, but every strike of your feet against the pavement lances up your calves and into your knees, every push-off yanks at your hamstrings and settles into your lower back.

You blamed _Voyager_ at first. You worked out in the Holodeck whenever you could, but even when set at Earth Normal, a ship's artificial gravity always feels a little different from actual terrestrial gravity. But you've been living on the Terran surface for six weeks, more than enough time to adjust to the pull of the planet.

You looked for another excuse. Closer now to fifty than to forty – hell, closer to fifty than to _forty-five_ – maybe you're just not a morning runner anymore. Maybe the difficulty of getting out of bed after hours of fitful sleep makes it impossible for a dawn workout to be anything but slow and sluggish.

You switched to evening runs along the Pacific coast, but now, gasping for breath with every lumbering step, you have to admit once again that it isn't just the gravity that's holding you down, it isn't your age, and it isn't the time of day.

It is all of these things, and so many more.

You lurch to a halt and lean over, hands on your bent knees, and you feel…heavy. Not in a literal body mass way, but weighted. Pushed down. Restrained.

Your debriefing was a tense affair. Seated before the Review Board and the lead counselor assigned to the _Voyager_ crew, you relived every mission you led and every decision you made out there. You tried to stay detached and keep things as clinical as possible because you knew the more emotionally involved and defensive you became, the more they'd question your stability, and things went well enough for a while. But then the family celebration happened, the night you and Seven ground against each other on the dance floor and shoved each other up against walls and wound up in a musty room in a seedy hotel far away from Starfleet Headquarters. You should have known then that it was over. The fact that you both wanted to get away from all those prying eyes should have told you that it was wrong, at least as much as your urge – and Seven's – to get out of that dingy hotel room and away from each other at the first light of day.

You felt the beginnings of it then, the heaviness, the knot in the pit of your stomach that didn't go away even after B'Elanna found you in the gym at HQ and shook her _bat'leth_ at you, even after Seven coolly informed you that she wished to dissolve your pair bond.

You tried to talk her out of it.

You have thanked every spirit that ever was that she didn't listen to you.

The rest of your debriefing… You shake your head and close your eyes against the sun setting over the ocean. "Contentious" doesn't even begin to cover what happened in those windowless little rooms after Seven strolled out of your life. Something inside you broke wide open and all the anger and resentment and shame you'd kept at bay since Kolopak's death came pouring out of you. You can't even remember what you said. When you think about it, all you remember is a long, animal howl of despair, dredged up from the depths of your spirit and directed at anyone and everyone that dared to cross your path.

You finished your debriefing spent and anguished. Back in your Starfleet-assigned apartment, you paced and muttered to yourself long into the night, avoiding the too-soft bed and the hours of introspection that awaited you there, until you finally couldn't take it anymore and bluffed your way onto _Voyager_. You walked the halls with heavy, measured steps, and fell into your own bed alone, where you managed the first restful sleep you'd had in a month.

When you beamed off the ship, the lead counselor, Lieutenant Commander Moe Crall, met you in the transporter room at HQ. You followed him back to his office and talked for a long time – and unlike the debriefing, you can remember exactly what you said in Moe's sunny office overlooking the Golden Gate.

You went over it all again. Admiral Janeway's dire warnings. Rudy Ransom's impossible choices. The Hirogen. Kashyk. Jaffen. Riley Frazier. The Hirogen. Fair Haven. The Vori and the Kradin. The Void. Gul Evek. Kolopak. After your own stories, the others came forth. Joe Carey's death. Samantha Wildman's powerful loneliness. Pablo Baytart's confusion and anguish. Kurt Bandera's unfocused rage. Lon Suder's depthless madness. With the telling of every story, the burden of seven lost years settled on you. "It wasn't easy," Moe said, "to carry all of that with you. Was it?"

"No. It wasn't."

"And who did you go to when you needed to vent, Commander?"

You reopen your eyes and gaze over the now-dark ocean. Your refusal to answer Moe's question probably delayed your reinstatement by a day or two, but there was no way in hell you were going to admit to the string of holocharacters you programmed and used and cast aside, the ones who started out as convenient listeners but became so much more – and so much less – in those last years, the ones who probably led directly to that night on the dance floor with a woman barely half your age.

When Owen Paris called you into his office at HQ the next day and pressed full Commander's pips into your palm and started outlining your reassignment choices, you scarcely heard a word he said. For the first time in a month, your thoughts were clear and focused, and centered on one thing only: The notion that while your debriefing was difficult, Kathryn's must have been a thousand times worse…but your relationship with her is now so damaged that she will never seek you out to talk about it.

With that thought, the weight you'd been trying to shake off settled over you completely.

It's been with you ever since.

You know exactly what it is.

It isn't just middle age and unfamiliar gravity and time past and days lost.

It's opportunities missed, dreams unfulfilled, words left unspoken.

It's parameters, regulations, rules.

It's sorrow, betrayal, guilt.

You asked Moe Crall to let you know when Kathryn tries to board _Voyager_, because you know she will.

You know, too, that the only way she's ever going to allow you to get close to her is if you take her by surprise. Arranging a chance meeting on the HQ grounds would be simpler and less emotionally fraught, but somehow you know that this discussion needs to happen on her turf, and no turf belongs to her more completely than _Voyager_.

With one last look at the ocean, you turn and make your way back to your sterile little apartment near HQ, where you sprawl across the sofa in your dank running clothes. You ask the computer to play your messages. There's another one from Sonia Greentree at the University of Washington, there's the obligatory invitation from Tom and B'Elanna, there's a quick and concerned message from your sister. There are others, but neither of the ones you were hoping for, the one you're certain will come soon and the one that never will. The weight of seven years sinks into your bones.

Kathryn's debriefing has been over for a little more than six hours.

You pour yourself the first of many drinks, and settle in to wait.

-End of Part 1-


	2. Chapter 2

**NOTE:** Sorry this took so long. Big work project + softball injury + no running for two weeks = writer's block. Worst case I've had since college, probably. I'm clear to run and play ball again, finally, which always clear my head. So the rest of this should go better. More soon.

**ROAD TRIP**

**Part 2**

You are drifting in that murky darkness between restless sleep and full wakefulness when the foghorn sounds.

Your cramped little apartment is a good two kilometers from the Golden Gate, but the horns are still audible at this distance. You've come to know them well in the weeks away from _Voyager_. You know which pitch originates mid-span and which comes from the south tower. The horns have become a low, rolling background to your dreams, and they're no longer enough to rouse you from sleep. But today the intermittent moan has a melodious counterpoint, something high-pitched and insistent that demands your attention.

It takes a full minute for you to sort the sound of an incoming comm from the rumble of the horns, and another few seconds of furtive slapping at your chest for you to realize you are not wearing a uniform or a comm badge.

With a groan, you lever yourself up from the sofa and lurch across the living room. Two steps into the journey, your shin collides with the corner of the coffee table. You bark out a curse at the shock, and then another when the empty whiskey glass rolls off the table and falls on your bare toes, curled against the chilly floor.

By the time you make it to your desk to answer the comm, your mouth is dry and your head is throbbing along with your shin and you remember just how much you had to drink last night. Running a hand through your still-sweaty hair you fall into the desk chair and activate the comm.

"Chakotay here," you sigh.

The comm screen flickers, and the shadowy image coalesces in to the long, thin face of Moe Crall. He's in uniform, but his fair hair is standing on end, as if he were just awakened, too. _"She's here,"_ the Counselor says without preamble.

You blink and wait for more details, but Moe offers nothing. "Who's where?"

Moe glances over his shoulder and turns back to you. _"Captain Janeway. She's here."_

Instantly awake, you sit up and note the setting behind Moe: a comm station in an open control room. A handful of uniformed officers stand behind him, peering intently at their consoles. "At HQ?"

Moe nods. _"She talked her way through the first security checkpoint before they could call me."_

"She's trying to get to _Voyager_," you say, somewhat unnecessarily; it's the only reason she'd have to talk her way through security, and the only reason Moe would call you.

_"__I'm not sure how long we can stall her for you."_

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

You are out of your chair and halfway across the apartment before Moe can close the connection.

You grab for your boots and belatedly realize that you are still in your running clothes from the night before, which now reek of stale sweat and alcohol. The time it'll cost you is regrettable, but it can't be helped. Losing two minutes to the sonic shower is preferable to facing Kathryn while you smell like Tom Paris after three days of shore leave.

Cleaner and somewhat more presentable in your new gray uniform with full Commander's pips, you signal for a site-to-site. As the beam takes you, the foghorn echoes again in the distance. The sound pounds through your head, and you wish you'd taken the time for a detox spray. And a big glass of water.

=/\=

Moe meets you in the transporter room. "Where is she?" you demand as you step down from the pad. Your bruised shin protests; you ignore it. "Did she board?"

"About five minutes ago. The second security team held her up as long as they could."

Moe waves you out of the transporter room and to the right into a deserted corridor. "She kept telling them she'd left something behind and she needed to find it."

You nod. You know the feeling. "How about the third checkpoint?"

Moe chuckles. "She threatened to call Owen Paris and they let her through."

"She'd have done it."

"I know. That's why I told them to just let her go."

The two of you round a sharp corner and enter the control room, where a schematic of _Voyager_'s interior is displayed on the main viewscreen. "What's she been doing?"

"Just wandering. She went to the Bridge first and stayed there for a few minutes, then went into the Ready Room, the Conference Room, some of the control rooms."

When you realize there's a moving green dot on the schematic, you frown. "She won't thank you for tracking her movements."

Moe ignores you. "I think she scared the tech team half to death when she beamed aboard."

You give him a grim smile. "I'm sure she did."

"Most of them are back at posts now."

Minutes pass while you and Moe watch the green dot meander from room to room, deck to deck. When you close your eyes, you can visualize the journey she's making – the empty corridors, the quiet spaces, the hush that can't quite drown out the echo of remembered voices. You sensed them when you were there, the shadows of the living and the dead, and you felt haunted by their presence…until you reached your quarters, where you finally slept in silent darkness.

The green dot doubles back on itself near the lower observation port on the underside of the primary hull.

"What's she doing?" Moe mutters, half to himself.

"Looking for something," you answer automatically. When Moe cocks an eyebrow at you, you shake your head. "We'll know when she finds it."

The green dot wanders a moment longer…and then stops at the center of the lower primary hull. You peer at the schematic for a tense second, and gasp. An opportunity has just presented itself to you, and you have no intention of letting it slip away. Not this time. "I have to get aboard," you say, turning to Moe. "I have to go to _Voyager_."

Moe raises both eyebrows at you. "Why?"

You push past him and head back to the transporter room at a fast jog. "I think I know what she's doing."

Moe trots along behind you. "What's going on?" he calls. "We can't just let you board, Commander. We don't know what she's-"

You skid to a halt and turn on the young counselor. You take a deep breath and offer the truth. "I think she's going to take the Aerowing."

Moe's mouth falls open.

"But I can keep her from going too far," you continue, mindful of the time passing, formulating a plan even as you reassure Moe Crall of your intentions. "I think I can keep her here. But I have to get aboard."

"You're sure she's not going to run?"

You chuckle and start off down the corridor again, offering two more truths as you go. "No, I think she _is_ going to run. But I might be able to stop her."

Moe darts down the corridor behind you. "We should call Admiral Paris."

"Won't matter," you call over your shoulder. "She won't listen to him. Not this time."

"Why not?" Moe catches up to you and grabs your arm. "Why not, Commander?"

Furious, you whirl on him. "Because she's done, Moe," you growl. "She's done with all of this, as much as I was a week ago." Images from your long, emotionally fraught debriefing flit through your memory. _If mine was bad, hers had to have been worse._ "She's had enough of answering professional questions that become personal and giving painful answers. She's done reliving the last seven years in detail, and she's ready to move on." So are you, you realize. You are ready, finally, for this moment, this confrontation, whatever it turns out to be. "Paris can order her to stay," you continue. "Get Nechayev and Hayes here if you want. She'll gladly ignore them, too."

"But you think you can keep her here?"

"I know I can," you say. "I may be the only one who can, and you're wasting time."

Staring at you, Moe clenches his jaw. "All right," he finally nods. "But I'm coming with you."

You nod and dash off down the corridor, Moe hot on your heels.

Seven years together. Seven years of wary cooperation, careful camaraderie, warm friendship, and quiet tension have led you this moment, to this decision you have just made.

He can try, but where you and Kathryn are going, Moe Crall can't follow.

No one can.

=/\=

The Bridge is full of techs. Upon entry, you pause for an instant, torn between reveling in the familiar activity and bristling at the unfamiliar faces.

As you step down to the center seats, the ship's comm sounds, and Kathryn's distinctive voice fills the Bridge. _"Aerowing to _Voyager."

A nervous tech steps to the Ops station, and you wonder briefly what Harry's doing right now. "Yes, Captain?"

_"__Release the Aerowing's docking clamps, Lieutenant."_

The young tech glances around the Bridge, but no one offers guidance. He falls back on his training. "Captain, I am obligated by regulations to ask if you have logged a flight plan."

You suppress a sigh of irritation. These kids and their rules. They should all go get lost in the Delta Quadrant for a few years and see just how far those rules will take them.

Kathryn's voice returns, far too calm for your liking. _"I have not logged a flight plan, Lieutenant. Please release the docking clamps."_

The tech notices you standing in the center of the Bridge. You hold up one finger. "Stand by, Captain," he says, as much to you as to her.

You turn to Moe. "Let her go," you say.

Moe flushes bright red. "I thought you said you could get her to stay."

"I can," you reply, "but first we have to let her go." Moe gives you a wary look. "She takes the Aerowing out to survey the ship," you explain. "She used to do it a few times a year. Let her do it one last time. Then I can bring her in." Not, _Then I _will_ bring her in._ You hope Moe hasn't heard the evasion. You step up beside the tech at Ops. "She needs this, Moe." _We need this. We have to do this. We have to _try_._ "I asked you to call me if she tried to board because I wanted to talk to her. This is the only way she'll let me get close to her." The tech beside you frowns. You ignore him. "This has to be on her terms, and these are her terms. I have to let her go before I can bring her back." Your heart hammers against your ribs.

The young counselor hesitates, then nods once at both you and the tech, who activates the comm. "Prepare for release, Captain," he says.

You motion the tech to stand aside and release the docking clamps yourself. You hide your sigh of relief from Moe, who has surely sensed by now that the situation is far more than it seems, even if he hasn't guessed your exact intentions.

When the Aerowing's telemetry data starts to stream in, you tap your fingertips against the console in satisfaction. "Clear the Bridge," you order without looking up, and hold your breath.

You feel everyone in the room turn their eyes to Moe Crall, who pauses, hisses a curse, and steps past you. "I hope you know what you're doing," he mutters, and all the techs fall in behind him.

As the Bridge doors slide closed, leaving you in solitude and silence, you keep your eyes fixed on the telemetry data. Kathryn flies the Aerowing along _Voyager_'s belly and up over the shuttlebay, where she turns and brings her vessel over the top of _Voyager_, aft to fore, headed for the primary hull.

"So do I," you murmur. "So do I."

-END Part 2-


	3. Chapter 3

NOTE: Sorry for the long delays. This story is giving me fits.

Road Trip, part 3

You wonder if this is what it was like for her.

The Aerowing hangs motionlessly in space just a few dozen meters from _Voyager_'s upper hull, and you wonder if this is what it was like for her when she first saw your ship on this same viewscreen seven years ago. She had your service record and your intelligence file, but she didn't really know anything about you then, she didn't know that Kolopak's death nearly broke you or that you have read _Kon-Tiki_ eleven times or that you are good with your hands. She didn't yet know you take your coffee so sweet that someday she will pick up your cup by mistake, take a hearty swig, and complain for the rest of the day that her teeth hurt from all the sugar.

You wonder if she stood on this Bridge, stared at your ship, and thought of you only as her enemy.

She is not your enemy.

You wonder if she's still your friend.

She doesn't even know you're here.

You could hail her, but you are not quite ready to hear her voice in response. It's been weeks since you last saw her and you haven't had a chance to prepare yourself for what her throaty voice does to you, even after all this time. It's not a lovely voice, to be sure, but her voice has been a lifeline to you so many times that you crave it now that you are lost and unsure of what your future holds, and it's too soon to give away so much. Not when you don't know where you stand with her, and haven't for months. Years, maybe.

You know about Justin and Edward Janeway, you know she's prone to depression and self-isolation, you know that she takes her coffee black as the nearest replicator will conjure it. You carry in your heart a catalog of Kathryn's idiosyncrasies and whims…but you have no idea what any of it means anymore, not in this quadrant, and you don't know what she wants from you – if she wants anything at all.

It's this paradox of knowing and not-knowing that keeps you from hailing her and sends your fingers instead to the console in between your command chairs, where you activate all of _Voyager_'s running lights, sensor grids, and navigational beacons for one second and then let them die.

Aerowing does not respond.

Weighted by the knowledge of what's about to happen, you fall into your old chair and activate all the lights again – running lights, sensor grids, navigational beacons – and this time you flash the Bridge lights, too, just for good measure.

You hold your breath, and a few seconds later the Aerowing's running lights flash in a sequence that you remember very well.

Nodding grimly, you activate the primary sensor array. The Aerowing darts toward it, and so it begins.

Primary sensor array.

Forward docking assembly.

Bussard collector.

She tags every single one with her targeting sensor and you move quickly onto the next target. She never acknowledges a point and neither do you. It's not a game this time, it's a fierce competition. It's every argument you ever had, played out again over the length and breadth of the ship that was undeniably hers as much as she claimed to share the command with you.

Shuttlebay, engine intercooler, reaction control thrusters.

She hits them quickly and efficiently, the Aerowing darting around _Voyager_ like a honeybee around a prize flower.

Cargo hatch.

Tag.

Forward torpedo assembly.

Tag.

_Equinox_.

Tag.

Teero.

Tag.

Scorpion.

Tag.

You lure her back to the upper hull and activate every Bridge light and console. When everything that can be lit is lit, you stand up, hands at your sides, and offer the last target you can offer: Yourself. Your life. Your heart.

It's hers. It's been hers for years. You know this deep in your bones and even though seven years have passed, even though you've made a few terrible missteps along the way, it is no less true now than it was on the day you replaced the ship's dedication plaque, the day you told her you were jealous of Q, the day you introduced her to her spirit guide.

She fires the targeting sensors over and over again while you stand there bared to the barrage. Every tag, every bleat of the alarm is a word you never said, a hope you left unfulfilled, a need you did not meet. For a full minute she hangs there in space and fires over and over again, counting coup against you, wounding you without leaving a single visible mark.

When she stops you turn and extinguish the Bridge lights, then flash all the running lights to acknowledge her ultimate victory.

You open a channel to the Aerowing and when you speak, your voice is unfamiliar to your own hears, rough and heavy with emotion. "Are you finished?"

_"__Yes."_

"Why don't you come in and we'll talk?"

_"__I don't need to talk."_

You smile grimly. "Kathryn, you just shot me enough times to take out a regiment of Klingon warriors in full body armor. Come on in. I'll meet you at the docking port._"_

There's no answer.

Quickly, you check the status of the ship's systems. "The replicators are working and the coffee's hot."

She offers no answer, but a moment later the Aerowing veers off.

You dart into the Ready Room, replicate two coffees – one black as night, one double sweet – and head for the Aerowing's docking port at a fast walk. The turbolift seems sluggish, but you know it's probably only your perception. It's carrying you to a moment that will likely determine the shape of your future, and while a part of you fears the confrontation, you are ready for the resolution to come, whatever it turns out to be.

You meet her at the hatch with a cup of coffee in each hand, but instead of strolling out to greet you she beckons you into the Aerowing. You're braced by the implication that she wants to have this discussion on neutral ground, not in the corridors of her ship, and slide into the co-pilot's seat.

For a long moment, you simply stare at her.

You'd forgotten – although you have no idea how, or when it happened – how unutterably beautiful she is. Fine-boned and strong and lovely.

She quirks an eyebrow at your open stare and you shrug to cover your sudden need to memorize every single freckle on her nose. "New uniform," you say. It's an evasion; you hope she doesn't know it. "It takes some getting used to when you've seen someone wearing something else almost every day."

She nods once, giving you the same look of appraisal. It's been years since she's looked at you like this, and you feel it all the way to your toes. It's astonishing, what that look does to you – and heartening when she turns away with a faint blush. "I thought they'd probably send a counselor to meet me," she says.

"If you were anyone else, they would have." You sip your coffee. "The techs have been told to alert the lead Counselor's office if any of us tries to board _Voyager_."

She presses her lips together in a thin, tight line. "I didn't know that."

"Neither did I, until I came here."

Surprised, she raises her eyebrows at you. "You did? Why?"

"The bed in the apartment they assigned me to didn't feel right. I just wanted a good night's sleep in my own bed."

"In a familiar place."

"Yes."

She sips her coffee and you suppress a smile at her expression of pure bliss. "When was that?"

"A week ago, the night after my debriefing was over. I think I just…" You rub your chin, wondering how much to tell her and how much to keep to yourself. "I didn't know what to do with myself. I came up here to sleep, and eight hours later when I disembarked, the lead Counselor met me in the transporter room."

"Why didn't he meet me?"

You smile. "I asked if they'd alert me when you came aboard like this. I wasn't sure they would, but I got the call and got here as fast as I could." You nod toward the Aerowing's console. "I was the one who released the docking clamps."

"So Counselor Crall is waiting for me somewhere?"

"Probably."

Silently, you sip your coffee and avoid her gaze. Moe Crall is surely waiting for you both…but you have no idea what you'll say to him about any of this, or how to explain the game that wasn't a game this time.

"I have a month of leave," she says, and you know she's done it just to change the subject. Neither of you likes to talk to counselors.

"So do I." You shift your coffee cup from hand to hand. "I would ask about your debriefings, but I imagine they were about the same as mine, only worse."

"That's probably a fair assessment."

"I hated going over all of that," you murmur. "And I hated that they were doing the same thing to all of us."

"I felt like I had to relive every mistake."

You nod. "But it must have turned out okay, if they cut you loose for a month."

She grimaces. "It turned out about the way I expected."

"Do you know where you're going to be reassigned?"

"Not officially," her voice is amused.

You raise an eyebrow at her. "Unofficially?"

"A little bird tells me there's a promotion and a desk job in my future."

You can't help but smile. "A little bird named Paris?"

"The same." She inclines her chin toward the pips on your collar. "Congratulations on your reinstatement, by the way."

It's your turn to grimace. You honestly didn't expect to be reinstated. The best you had hoped for was an honorable discharge. Your ambivalence at the situation has been a source of surprise ever since. "Thank you. I think."

"Do you know where you're going?"

"Not really. Starfleet's floated a couple of options that I don't hate."

As intended, your ironic phrasing makes her chuckle. "That sounds promising."

You shift in the co-pilot's chair. "I'm also thinking about resigning again."

Surprised, she turns to look at you. "Really? Why?"

"I talked to an old friend who's faculty at the University of Washington now. She thinks I have enough material to fast-track a dissertation and a PhD in anthropology. Maybe I could teach somewhere."

Head tilted to one side, she considers this. "'Professor Chakotay.' Has a certain ring."

This time, it's her phrasing that makes you chuckle. "Doesn't it?" You pluck at the front of your new uniform with your fingertips. "And I'm just not sure I want to be at Starfleet's whim anymore."

"No?"

You've been thinking about this for weeks, but now that you're in her presence again, you are finally able to articulate all of your feelings. "I've lived a more or less itinerant life since I was a teenager. This," you nod toward _Voyager_, "is the closest thing I've had to a stable home in thirty years. I think I'd like to re-create that stability for myself, but I'm not sure I can if I stay in Starfleet." You sip your coffee. "Not the way Starfleet currently is, anyway. I asked about the Academy, but I got a very lukewarm response. Given my rank and my experience, I think they'd send me back out instead. But being on a starship doesn't have quite the appeal it once did for me."

She nods and turns away. Though you haven't talked about Starfleet's postwar militarization, you are certain she's as concerned about it as you are – and as ambivalent about continuing to serve. "So what will you do?"

"I haven't decided." You pause, staring at her profile in the Aerowing's dim cabin. You hadn't intended to bare your soul today, but it seems right. It _feels_ right. At last. "That all depends," you quietly.

"On what?" she asks, and you can't believe that after all this time, she still doesn't _know._ You are searching for the words to tell her exactly what she means to you, to ask where you stand with her and whether there's any chance of mending your friendship and going forward from this moment, when she turns her bright, piercing gaze on you. "On what?" she repeats, quietly. And then, before you form an answer, another question passes her lips. "On Seven?"

The question hits you like a punch to the gut. It forces the breath from your lungs and sets your heart pounding in your chest.

You thought she didn't know.

You thought you'd kept it secret from her.

You were a fool to think you could.

With your cup raised in front of you like a shield, you grasp at words to explain it to her.

"I… No. Nothing like that," you babble. "Actually, Seven and I, we… I mean…" You frown at your own inarticulateness and she raises an expectant eyebrow at you. "Who told you?"

She rolls her eyes. "Anyone who saw you together at the family celebration didn't need to be told anything, Chakotay."

"So I've been informed." You feel your face redden. "By a _bat'leth_-wielding Engineer."

"Ouch."

"You have no idea." To cover your embarrassment, you drum your fingers on the co-pilot's console. "That night was one of the last times Seven and I were together," you say. "Did you know that?"

She sucks in a sudden, sharp breath and you wonder what she's feeling. Is she shocked? Relieved? Angry at you for toying with Seven's affections?

You plunge ahead, willing away the memory of waking, disoriented and disgusted, in a dingy hotel room and a foul-smelling bed, with pale hair spread across your chest. "After that night, I took a long, hard look at myself and tried to reimagine an Earth-based future with her in it. I couldn't." You give a humorless, self-deprecating chuckle. "The funny thing was, Seven was doing the same thing. Before I could figure out how to tell her I didn't want to see her romantically anymore, she came to me and informed me she wished to dissolve our pair bond." You wince and try to dislodge another memory, this one of yourself begging her not to leave you even though you didn't want her to stay. It was a reflex, nothing more, a middle-aged man's vain attempt to tell himself that a beautiful young woman hadn't rejected him outright. "And like an idiot, I tried to talk her out of it for the second time, even though I had already decided she was right."

Kathryn waves a hand at you. "Behold the male ego."

She saw right through you. You knew she would. "It was…not pretty."

She gives a nasty little snort. "I can only imagine."

You cringe. "I'd rather you didn't."

At this, she laughs out loud, and a second later you join in. The situation is ridiculous. _Beyond_ ridiculous. Looking back, you have no idea why you thought you could make things work with Seven, or even why you thought you _should_.

When reaches out and pats your arm, you gasp. "Chakotay, I'm sorry that didn't work out the way you wanted it to."

You stare at her hand, white against the dark fabric of your uniform. "Are you really sorry, or are you just saying that to be polite?" you whisper.

She stares at you, eyes wide.

Encouraged that you surprised her and feeling that you are finally on equal footing in this conversation, you place your empty coffee cup on the deck beside your chair and lean forward, elbows on knees, peering up at her face. "Why did you come here today, Kathryn?" you ask. "Why did you come back to _Voyager_?"

She draws in a great breath and begins to speak, and her voice is one you haven't heard in years, maybe one you've never heard at all, soft and intense, for you alone. "Because one day I woke up and I looked in the mirror and I saw someone there I didn't expect to see. I saw someone who lost the two people she loved most in all the Universe because she thought their happiness was more important than her own."

Your throat tightens at the implication – the _admission_ – in her words.

"I saw a lonely old woman driven to erase her own worst mistakes," she continues, "and I swore, I _swore_, that I would not become her. But she was there anyway. She was there, Chakotay, and I didn't know how to _not_ become her. I thought if I came here, the last place where I was truly happy, I could shake her off and figure out how to start over again."

You nod. You had expected that the Admiral would have this effect on Kathryn. You just assumed it would be years before she admitted it, and never to you. But something is changing, here in this cramped ship, and you are determined to let it unfold the way it should. "And have you? Shaken her off?"

"I don't know. I think maybe I've made a start." She rolls her coffee cup between her palms and looks away for a long moment. "Why did _you_ come today?"

"To find you." Her gaze snaps around to you again and you shake your head once. "She told me what I was like. The Admiral. She told me that the longer we stayed out there, the more our friendship suffered until it finally broke. But she wouldn't tell me why." Kathryn starts to speak but you hold a hand up to stop her. "Don't. Even if you know what happened, don't tell me." You know it has something to do with you and Seven, but you can't fathom what it is, and you don't want to. Not anymore. "It's not something I ever want to think about."

"Why?"

"Because I can't imagine a future where we're not friends, Kathryn," you whisper. "I can't imagine any version of me who would stop fighting for any version of you." You take a deep breath. "I can't imagine any version of me who would stop _loving_ any version of you."

Her hands clench around the coffee cup. "You almost did."

The accusation stings, but only for an instant, because along with it she has offered an acknowledgement of your love, her first in years. "But I came to my senses. And as much as you don't want to become her…I don't want to become _him_."

"How do we keep it from happening?"

You settle back into the co-pilot's seat, weak with both the knowledge that she's as shaken by that lonely future as you are, and the hope that together you can find a way to avoid it. "We go to the counseling Starfleet suggests," you offer. "We spend the next month scrutinizing the last seven years of our lives in the presence of compassionate strangers who have no idea what it was really like out there. Or…"

Your words stumble to a halt. You picture Moe Crall standing expectantly outside the Aerowing's hatch, just waiting for the two of you to tumble out so he can subject you to more questioning. "Or?" she prompts.

A slow grin rolls across your face and you tap your fingertips on the navigation console. "What kind of range does this thing have?"

"What?" she gasps.

You swivel the chair around to give the console a good look. "How long can we travel at high warp without having to refuel or restock? A day? A week?"

"Two days, maybe three. But I don't-"

Before she can stop you, you pull up a star chart. "Two days gets us to Risa, no problem. We can hide out there for a week, then move on to… Look, right there." It's so perfect that you almost laugh out loud when you point to the chart. "Berengaria Seven. Let's go see the dragons, Kathryn."

"Chakotay, what the hell-"

"Do the replicators work?" You dash to the rear of the craft, trusting that she will follow. "If they don't we can raid _Voyager_ for supplies and get out before they notice anything's missing." You turn back and smirk at her. "Strictly a Maquis operation, of course."

She darts after you. "What's gotten into you, Chakotay? Are you proposing we steal the Aerowing?"

You stop pawing through a supply cabinet and straighten, but find you can't look at her. "We're not stealing anything, Kathryn," you say. "We're taking back what's _ours_. Our friendship, our lives, our future. The Delta Quadrant gave us each other, but then took seven years away. Seven years that we should have been together." Suddenly feeling heavy and exhausted, you slump against bulkhead. "I want some of that time back, even if it's only a month. A month together might be just enough to keep me from becoming the man who let you go, and to keep you from becoming the woman who let me do it. Is that too much to ask, Kathryn? That we at least _try_?"

Silence.

You came to _Voyager_ to find her.

You had hoped, foolishly, that in the process you'd find yourself, too, and that maybe you could go forward together.

Her silence proves once and for all what an idiot you've been.

The weight of seven years settles over you while you stand there, anticipating her ultimate rebuff. You are once again casting about for words, for some way to turn all of this into a joke that you will both laugh about long after your broken heart has healed over, when her hand falls on your shoulder.

Wary, terrified of her next words, you half turn to her…and her hand, her sweet little hand, slides over and curls itself around the back of your neck and sends a shiver down your spine.

"I've never seen the dragons," she whispers, and tangles her fingers into your hair.

Shocked, elated beyond words, you move toward her so quickly that your first kiss lands half on her forehead, half on her hair, and you both laugh when she pulls you down to finally face her. When her soft lips touch yours for the first time, you close your eyes and lean down and clutch her body to yours. You anchor yourself to her because suddenly you feel so weightless that if she lets you go you will surely fly away.

-END Part 3-

NOTE: Now that we've caught up to the end of Joyride, this will surely get easier. I hope. Stay tuned for more.


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